Blood drips onto the street asphalt and washes away. She lifts her head and shakes her rattled brain. The blow stunned her, hurt her, nearly knocked her unconscious but she’s been hurt worse. The ringing in her ears clears as rain pelts down on her face cleansing her wounds. Slowly, cautiously she rolls onto her slim stomach then upward onto to one knee. She counts the number of houses she flew by, 6–that must be some kind of record.
Lying in the gutter, snagged on a broken tree branch, threatening to be washed away like a piece of trash, hangs her pride, her identity. She reaches out her hand and rescues the red bandanna. She feels the soft material between her fingers before tying it around her neck where it belongs.
Chuckling she wipes the dripping blood from her mouth, stomps her Sketchers in a dirty puddle and rises to her feet. Her body screams with pain but not loud enough for her to hear. No one would believe that she, the Order’s number one agent, would have been put on her butt, then again, when’s the last time any agent faced a fiend like this? They’re becoming stronger.
Thunder roars from the heavens like a pride of godly lions singing in the night. Lightning illuminates the dark sky revealing a ghostly neighborhood that once teamed with the sounds of bustling families and barking dogs chasing cats. Now, it’s nothing more than an empty wet stage, a stage where an epic play is being written and performed. Either she wins and awakes the trapped families from their nightmarish slumbers, or it wins and continues to ensnare more innocents.
Her wits recover. She quickly digs through her khaki skirt pockets looking for something, for anything. A faint smile grows on her face as her fingers feel the folded piece of paper. A single dollar lay in her pocket; change from the bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos and Coke she bought after school. This will work just fine.
She holds the dollar and shouts into the sky but her words are lost behind a wall of thunder. The metallic chip behind her right ear shines blue, sending surges of volts through her eleven year old body. The dollar disappears in a cloud of white smoke. Out of all the agents in the Order, none can transform an object as quickly as she.
Her large brown eyes pierce through her designer glasses like lasers focusing on the giant fiend. Steam rises as drops of rain hit its coal like body. Its flaming green eyes are filled with dark determination, and each breath produces chugs of yellow sulfur that mix with its shapeless head of pitch black smoke. From the fantasy world, Ozrealm, this champion fiend came, and back to that world it shall be returned.
She clears her lungs of all oxygen then begins to refill them with a deep inhale. Her left foot slides forward and right foot back as she opens up into the Taekwondo stance that comes so naturally. Twirling in her right hand, like a miniature tornado, is a staff emitting a constant red glow – best dollar she’s ever spent.
The rain stops. Her body tenses. All weight shifts to her back foot. Beads of water drip off her messy shoulder length brown hair. She feels the wind, the dripping water, the thunder’s vibrations, and even the moon’s light as her state of awareness elevates to a level only she can achieve.
“My name is Teresa, FIEND!” she roars, but, it already knew that. “And my staff will be the last thing you’re ever gonna see!”
Teresa knows she must end this now or there will surely be dire consequences for if she’s not home in 30, she’ll be answering to mom.
The End of the Story But Not the Adventure…